icarusalsoflew | 003. and in every raindrop... // open post.

[ He knows you will, and that's precisely why it's hard to keep his anticipation and building excitement over the possibility from choking him.

So he's moving past you, stretching out just like you asked him to. There's a small wince and a tiny noise of discomfort the moment he feels his cock slide over the mattress: he's already growing hard, and you touching him just now hadn't helped matters in the slightest. Nevertheless, he's pillowing his head with one arm under his chin, and folding the other arm just in front of that one. Once he's flat on his stomach, he's turning his cheek just enough in order to look up at you.

Time to try and will himself to relax, even a little. Operative word being 'try'. ]

[ And he's rising even as you stretch out on that mattress, watching you with hooded eyes and slightly parted lips before he bends down just to kiss you on the brow. His hand moves indulgently down the curve of your spine, stopping right before he touches your ass. And then he's leaving you for a little bit, walking over to where his things have been laid out alongside yours for the bag that holds a particular set of bottled oils. He doesn't deliberately hide the one he picks from your view -- but you know these oils, don't you, down to their scent.

That's the sound of him pulling the cap before he tips it to the side so that a tiny drop falls to the center of his palm. Perhaps you'll feel the rush of memory that prompts the shudder that goes through him -- one that has nothing to do with the chill and everything to do with all the times you've taken him/he's taken you to bed in the last few weeks.

He tips a bit more onto his hand, just enough to slick both hands up before he's making his way back to you, the bottle dangling by the neck between his fingers before he sets it down on the floor as he settles down beside you.

Have a kiss to your shoulder, babe, as he smooths is palms over the expanse of your back. ]

[ ...And now he knows exactly what he's gotten himself into with you, and he isn't entirely sure how he feels about that. Maybe you'll be able to pick up as much, given how your fiancee tries - and fails - to swallow the sudden dry lump in your throat the moment you come close. He has also tensed up, body reacting to the way his mind is now racing through the haze and heat of the possibilities of this exercise.

There's another swallow once you're smoothing your palms out over his back, and the slightest shiver of the skin underneath your hands. The next breath your boy draws in is ragged, and he's screwing his eyes shut. That might just be the curl of his fingers over the cushion. If you're going to use a lot of that oil...

No. Full stop. Thinking about it is just going to make him fall apart faster. (But how can he not think about it when those are your hands on his body, your presence up in the air, just within reach?) ]

[ If he were actually sorry about this whole affair, he'd apologize -- but he isn't, so you'll catch the pleased sound that leaves his lips as his hands begin to knead the tension out of you.

He'll start things slow. It's entirely possible that you'll work yourself up right on your own, and if you don't, well. It's a good thing that bottle has a lot of that oil. ]

Just relax.

[ He's murmuring that as he admires the tattoos that move over your skin, as he lets his fingers work at your back. You've such a beautiful form ( he's letting his palms follow the arch of the base of your spine now ) it's several degrees of sinful. His touch, you might note, is equal parts loving and possessive. ]

[ And how is he supposed to relax like this? Everything in your touch is soothing and comforting, but the heat of the oil is spreading wherever your fingers go, making him hyper-aware of the warmth of your body and the feel of your fingers on his skin. It is also magnifying just how good you're making him feel, which subsequently goes straight to his gut, stoking up the fire of lust in his belly --

-- which only grows worse once you're going up the ridges of his spine, so much so that this one has started to quiver in earnest. The room is starting to feel so large and so suffocating now, like its walls are gradually closing in; it's getting harder for him to breathe by the second.

A slight shift from this one, as he's sinking his forehead into his arm. The gasp of his breath is partially muffled by the cushion and by his own skin. ]

[ It is such a treat, watching you move beneath his ministrations and feeling the way you respond. He moves one hand up to your neck, lets his fingers knead at that spot right where your shoulders slope upward. He'll let his fingers go all the way up to your hair to fist in it before he leans down to nip right behind your ear. ]

I need you to turn around, babe.

[ He trembles from his scalp right down to the end of his spine at the push of your fingers against his skull, and doesn't manage to suppress the small whimper that leaves his lips the moment he feels your teeth teasing at the delicate skin of his ear.

There's a long pause from this one's end before he's pushing himself up and turning, like you asked him. Once he's settling back on the cushion, though, he's swallowing, and turning his face to one side, eyes catching your face then ultimately sliding away.

Is he blushing? Yes. He's also quivering in earnest now, fingers clenching against the cushion, toes curling over the top, lips panting into the air between the two of you. His knees are drawing up ever so slightly, limbs shifting in a futile attempt at dispelling that uncomfortable and hard knot of lust between his legs, stomach caving, muscles flexing underneath heated flesh, his body a tense line that's right about ready to snap underneath the right amount of pressure. The oil, by now, has done its magic, and has made quick work out of shredding his composure to shreds. ]

[ You're a gorgeous sight: flushed and needy right in front of him. It's honestly enough to prompt him to shed the clothes he's still wearing -- high collar, robes and all, because that is what your personal tailors recommended, yes? But no, he'll see this through and he's quietly grateful that you can't see ( even if you can probably pick up the scent ) how turned on he is.

Have a palm, warmed by that oil, moving up your shin. ]

I love you.

[ The declaration is steady, soft and earnest. That palm has come to rest on your knee. ]

Drape your hands on the arm above your head for me, will you?

[ He's going somewhere with this. Indulge him a little. ]

[ And of course he's imagining that hand going higher, riding up his skin towards --

-- anyway. Your boy's looking up now, through the fringe of his hair (disheveled as it now is, much like the rest of him), and it's all he can do to not lick his lips at the sight of you above him, still clothed, still as painfully handsome as you were hours previous during the fete.

Quietly following your request, which leaves him spread out with his wrists against that arm and hands turned upward, gaze averted yet again, cock standing at attention, still breathing like his lungs are slowly but surely closing up on him from the inside. ]

I just want to try something.

[ He's never used his powers like this before, but now is a good a time as any to see if it will work. Arcadia is old, as are the things in it. While out on the field, he'd hesitate to stretch his abilities too much, given the unpredictability of the faerie realm. Here though, in a space ruled by an ally... it feels alright enough to try.

The arm of that couch is warping beneath your wrists, the shape of it turning into two cuffs that will keep your hands right where they are.

While that's happening, you'll catch the pleased smile that graces his lips as he's reaching back down for that bottle. ]

[ You stretch him out for real and cuff him in place, and he suddenly feels utterly, totally exposed beneath you. Your gaze, in fact, is like a physical force to him at this moment, especially since he's so worked up and wants nothing more but you close, you touching him, you coming inside.

As such, you're going to have to excuse the whine of protest from this one, and that helpless flex of his fingers as his arms tug at those restraints. He could break out of this easily, but he wants you to take him, and you've made it clear that the only way that you're going to fuck him is if he lets you have your way with him first.

(That's a big turn on for him, by the way. You know the extent of how much he'll place himself in your care, how far you can actually go with him in bed and, by extension, in just about any matter under the sun.) ]

Josh...

[ He's watching you now, plaintive and pleading. He feels as if he's gone on for too long without you kissing him. He needs your air. He needs you. ]

Mm? [ A brow lifted your way as he's pouring a generous amount of that oil onto his palm. He doesn't look at you, not yet. Looking at you means potentially giving in and he wants to do this for you, make you plead, make you cum ( because he won't tell you that you can't, watching you resist the urge to will be amazing to watch ) and push you right up to breaking apart by the mere touch of his hands.

He's rubbing his hands together now and turning to you as he stands and leans a knee onto that lounge so that he can better hover above you.

He'll start with your legs. Yes, that seems a good place to begin. You've been on your feet the whole night, doing the rounds and mingling with your subjects. ]

[ And you positioned over him like that without actually sinking down to cover his body with yours is the most infuriating and tantalizing thing in all of Arcadia for him right now, especially since it just reminds him of how much he really, really wants you to fuck him.

Anything he might have said becomes a hiss and a full bodied quiver instead, once you're spreading more of that oil on his skin, as you're touching him. You're in the perfect position to see the way his head tosses, eyes fluttering, eyebrows knitting together, fingers grasping helplessly at air, expression threatening to break down even more than it already has.

He's trembling from the tension that's knotted up in his limbs now just as much as he's trembling out of need. The heat has completely invaded his lungs, and is spreading throughout his nerves, leaving his skin tingling and his mind collapsing under the strain of the needs of his body.

Forgive him, love, for the way he's now trying to shift his legs out of your grip. He's too hot and several touches too sensitive, and your hands are everywhere without being anywhere that he needs them to be all at once. ]

[ Oh no, you don't. He stops moving his hands and curls his fingers firmly instead into your flesh, gaze steady on your face and almost deathly quiet as he waits for you to quiet down.

He won't tell you to stop squirming -- mostly because it's thrilling to get you worked up like this. Instead, he'll be patient. ]

I've barely touched you.

[ Understatement, that. No, he's not putting too much stress on his choice of oil. He knows your skin is likely on fire. You made sure he knew the many ways one could feel so terribly trapped in one's own skin and he's fully committed to returning the favor. ]

Tell me what you want. [ That's whispered over your lips, right before he indulges you and covers your mouth with his own. ]

Nn...

[ That's a soft and helpless noise once you move to hold him in place. Your fiancee's head tosses back against the cushion, eyes sliding shut yet again as he scrambles for some semblance of control. It's difficult, wrestling with one's own instincts.

Trapped is precisely what your boy feels like now. Trapped and wrapped up in too much of everything, hot and beyond bothered, stripped down and vulnerable. You're the only thing that could possibly make him feel better, which would explain that sigh of relief you end up swallowing once your lips meet, and the way he had already opened his mouth to welcome yours once he registered the fact that you were going to kiss him.

It shouldn't come as any surprise that he has to break away first, and what little relief he felt at being able to quench his thirst for you gets swallowed up only too quickly by the fire in his lungs, his heart, his gut and his brain. ]

Please fuck me.

[ Breathless, hushed, and begging: the notes of his need are in his voice and in his eyes. Please see how he's trying to hold still for you now, and how that effort alone is starting to join that ever growing list of things that are currently undoing him at the seams. ]

Do whatever you want to me, but please...

[ Promise him that you'll fuck him, and he'll try his damned best to hold on to it as you torment/tease/pleasure him at your leisure. ]

[ And he's nuzzling your cheek, hands picking up where they left off and are now focused on massaging both of your calves. ]

Mm. [ That sound leaves him softly, even as he shifts to take your lips with his again; even as he moves his hands higher along the back of your thighs to work at the muscles there. ] I'll think about it.

[ And your boy, he's been pushed beyond smart responses. You're going to end up swallowing all the tiny, delicious noises he makes as you kiss him, just like how you're probably going to have to be a little firm and hold him down as you massage him. His body's instinctively arching towards yours, especially in light of how he's burning with desire.

All of this feels so good that it's painful. He's also incredibly hard between both of your bodies, cock twitching and leaking with precum in spite of the fact that you've barely laid a hand on him since you brought him down like this. ]

I really want you to fuck me now.

[ There's no heat or edge of demand underlying those words because you've quite literally massaged anything close to that out of him. As things stand, he almost sounds petulant.

Screw what he was considering just moments before this one. Maybe you could fuck him, and then do whatever you want...? For the love of everything, you are driving him insane. ]

[ He'll take those noises and answer them with a satisfied hum from deep in his chest before pulling back so he can watch you again as he slides his palms up your thighs, kneading a steady path over the curve and angles of your hips/waist/torso and making sure to steer clear of your cock.

Forgive him, love, if he wets his lips unconsciously. He's quietly mesmerized by the way the oil shines off of your skin, accentuating each dip and rise of muscle.

The moment you speak up though, there's a pause and a slow, smug smile. You're so damn cute when you look like that.

You'll feel one cuff to widen, loosening their hold on your wrist just enough for him to draw your left arm out of it. ]

No.

[ His gaze is turning to said arm now, as he gets to work on the tension there. Patience, babe. This'll be so much better if you let him do as he likes.

He eventually gets to your wrist, thumb careful over your pulse. The room is quiet. He's quiet. But he'll draw your hand up soon enough, bending close to take your pinky between his lips. He'll suck on each finger with deliberate slowness, as if to savor you inch by glorious inch. ]

[ You are absolutely terrible, and you're going to be rewarded for the terrible things that you're doing with your boy squirming, arching against both your body and your hands when he registers where your hands are/where they're not but really ought to be.

He was ready to protest, by the way, up until you took hold of his arm. Instead, you're going to have him watching you, eyes dark and hooded, breath rushing out uneven and short past quivering lips, all of him veritably wound up with a need that just gets worse with every little thing that you do to him.

His throat has gone so dry and tight now, it's likely that he wouldn't be able to get any words out even if he tried. ]

[ There's the press of teeth as he withdraws just far enough from you thumb that the pad of it is resting between his lips. His blue eyes have turned your way now, seeing only you and betraying the need that he may have appeared immune to.

That's the roughness of the tip of his tongue along the skin of your finger now, and then he's moving that hand back into the cuff, willing it to tighten around it again so that you won't be able to distract him from what he plans next.

He's using both of his thumbs to follow the dip right before the jut of your hipbones; the pressure loving, caressing and very much like the way he'd trace the crack of your ass.

He wants you to think of the places he'd usually touch you, while not actually touching you there. You've an agile mind with a vivid enough imagination, yes? ]

[ You shift down and his eyes follow your progress, even as his breath is starting to taper out into tiny little sobs that are a mix of desperation, need, pleasure and protest all at once.

If that was the desired effect that you were going for with these terrible ministrations, you're getting it and then some. Your boy, you see, is rapidly being pushed too far and too soon, leaving him incapable of doing much else but unfold beneath your fingertips and lose himself a little more at each turn. His hands are clenched tight now, see, and his hips are bucking, digging back into the cushion, pushing up towards your thumbs. He's also writhing yet again in earnest, pressing the side of his face - flushed cheek, panting lips shaped in a trembling moan and all - against the cushion.

This is bad. He could very easily end up coming in spite of the fact that he really doesn't want to. ]

[ Yes. This is what he wants to see.

Leaning down now to drop a kiss to your knee as he keeps up rubbing at that spot, the weight of his fingers shifting from deep and thorough to almost feather-like. ]

Let go, Hikaru. [ He murmurs that, his voice low, lulling, earnest. ] It's only you and me here.

[ Just the mere touch of your lips and simple circle of your thumbs sends another wave of lust rushing through his system, and it's nearly enough to drag him under.

He shakes his head vehemently at that, even as a whimper's crawling its way past his throat, tapering out into the a breathless moan. He isn't looking at you again, because he's sure that given the state that he's in, all it'll take is the sight of you looking back down at him to ruin him.

Not letting go is sure to hurt him, though. You'll be able to see that for yourself plain as day, given the way that your boy is trembling beneath you, muscles coiled and tight underneath tingling, impossibly heated skin. The sheen of sweat is mingling with the oil you've rubbed him down with: a result, no doubt, of the effort he's putting into trying not to lose it and inevitably failing. ]

003. and in every raindrop... // open post.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject